


Rorschach

by NorthernStar



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Anal Sex, And More Like Carla Lane, Backstory, Child Abuse, F/M, First Time, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Less Dolly Parton, M/M, Prison, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernStar/pseuds/NorthernStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or....<br/>Five Times Juice saw a Butterfly (And the One Time it was Love)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rorschach

  


_"Love is like a butterfly, as soft and gentle as a sigh,  
_

_The multicoloured moods of love, are like it's satin wings,  
_

_Love makes your heart feel strange inside, it flutters like soft wings in flight,  
_

_Love is like a butterfly, a rare and gentle thing..."  
_

**_Hurt_ **

 

There was a space between the back of the tenement and the high chain fence that Juan had discovered long ago.  He was slight enough to turn sideways and shuffle through to where the housing block jutted in about 6 feet leaving a small space.  It was not the nicest of dens, the guttering above was broken and water dripped almost constantly leaving a long line of green slime trailing down the wall. The ground was always damp, even on the hottest summer day and the great pipe that rose up from the boiler room, the reason this space had been made in the first place, rattled and clanked loudly. 

But it had the benefit of being the one place an adult could not get him, even if they tried, and that was all he cared about.

He sat on the pallet he’d dragged in there the year before and huddled up.  A chill November wind whistled down the narrow passage.  His fingers and toes were soon as numb as his thoughts. The only discomfort he registered, dully, was from his ribs.

He had never been hit like that before. 

The fists of bullies he’d felt many times.  His nose had been bloodied in playground scuffles countless times before.  Even his mother had swiped his backside with the flat of her hand when she felt he deserved it.

His side ached and every shuddering, not quite crying, breath he took hurt. 

He liked Terry.  He wanted Terry to like him and he had tried so hard to be good, to show him he could be a good son.  But nothing had ever been enough.  Terry always told Juan how he could have done better.

This was the first time Terry had felt it necessary to reinforce his counsel with his fists.  He made it sound so _reasonable,_ like he would be derelict in his duty to Juan’s mother if he did not. 

It wouldn’t be the last time though.  Even through the haze of shock, he understood that.  Maritza had taken Terry’s side and had watched, fretfully but unmoving, as he punished her son.

Juan pulled up his t-shirt.  The place where Terry’s fists landed had begun to redden, two splodges of colour, side by side.  He knew it wouldn’t be long before they turned blue.  It looked like someone had painted a butterfly on his ribs.

He thought of _that_ butterfly…that delicate little butterfly from so long ago.  It had been bluer than any bruises that anyone could bestow.

_I’ll be strong too_ …

 

**_Empty_ **

 

The hard pallet, weathered now with age and carved all over with various bits of knife-scraped graffiti, dug into his back side.  The damp from the wall leeched into his back.  But those sensations were all so far away and getting further all the time.

Juan took another drag of his stolen joint and felt…nothing.  There was a vague heat in his lungs sometimes and when he was aware of it, he let it out, smoke curling from his mouth and nose like a dragon.  

He put the joint to his lips again and inhaled, tipping his head back to rest against the rough wall.  Far above, in the patch of sky that looked down on his hiding place, fluffy clouds floated.  Much as he floated, boundless, groundless…lost….

One of them reminded him of a butterfly…

 

**_Passion_ **

 

Amy pushed him back onto the bed.  He stared up at her as she reached under the pillow and took out small foil packet.  His heart raced as he watched her pull out the condom.  She rolled it on him awkwardly.  It didn’t look like it was on right but he didn’t want to criticise.

She smoothed the sheath with her hand and he moaned at how good it felt.

Amy looked a little alarmed.  “I’ve only put one on a banana before.  You know, in Health class.”

“It’s OK.”

It really didn’t look OK, but he didn’t want to run the risk of her changing her mind.  He leaned up to kiss her and with her mouth so engaged, reached down with his right hand to better fit the condom.  When she pulled back, it really was OK.

“It’s meant to be better if I go on top.”  She said and straddled him.

“Whatever you want.”  He told her, even though he was itching to get between her legs and bang away like the men in the porno’s that Danny had.

She wiggled and lined herself up.  Juan held his penis and rubbed the head all over her pussy.  Through the latex he felt the hard flesh of her clitoris and pressed against it.  She groaned loudly and shifted, locking the tip of him ready to enter.  She pressed down and he met resistance.  Juan bucked under her before he could stop himself, feeling something give and sliding maybe an inch inside.  She gave a little cry.

“Sorry.  Sorry.”

But then she inched down until she could take no more of him.  It felt incredible; tight and hot and slippery.  She moved back and forth and it was even better and he knew he was going to come.  She repeated her movements and all of the tension left her face.  Juan couldn’t help thrusting up into her and she gave another yelp, only this one was unmistakably of delight.  He dug his fingernails into his fists and tried to ignore how good it felt because he was going come and he had to hold on.

He managed to keep that mantra going for another five thrusts before his cock began to throb with imminent orgasm and cursing; he pushed in deep and began to spasm, coming in intense pulses.

Juan came back to himself to find her pulling him to her and wiggling around so that he could spoon up behind her.  Drowsily, he pressed his nose against her hairline.

She had a butterfly tattooed on the back of her neck, concealed by the fall of her hair.  He’d never seen it before.  He kissed it.

 

**_Loyalty_ **

 

_I need you to do something_ , Clay had said, _for the Club_. 

The prison wall was hard beneath Juice’s hands.

_For Jax…_

Pain. He grit his teeth.  So long since he’d last had to do this.

_And for me, son…_

Did Clay know that one three letter word would be all it needed to get him to agree? 

Behind him, Darwin grunted, huffing damp breath against Juice’s shoulders.  Juice’s stomach turned sickly.  Clay had promised this “payment” for Darwin’s services to the Club would remain just between them.  _Ten minutes_ , Clay said _, in, out,_ and he had chuckled, _maybe in and out again, then over…_

Darwin’s grip on Juice’s hip increased and he huffed again, pressing his dick harder against the tight pucker of Juice’s anus.  Juice bit his lip.  Ten minutes…

He forced himself to bear down to ease the man entrance.  He didn’t want to think how young he’d been when he first learned to do that.  Darwin finally shoved forward.

“God!” It was murmured in his ear.  “Fuck that’s tight.”

_No…  Please, don’t talk…_   But he couldn’t make his mouth form the words.

“Mmm…Yeah…urgh…fuckfuckfuck…”

He looked down at himself, at the hardening jut of his own penis.  It had happened this way before and he never understood it.  There was nothing but pain and humiliation and yet his body gave all signs of enjoying it.

A particularly hard thrust pushed Juice’s face against the wall.  He shifted his hands to better support his weight and his fingers brushed a crack in the dull grey paint, sharp and rough against his skin.

“Urgh…ugh…yeah….”

Juice focused on the crack, traced its edges with his nail.  It was shaped like a butterfly.

_Be strong…_

Pain.  Pain. Pain.

_Mama…_

Then with a final grunt and thrust it was over.

After long moments of panting in Juice’s ear, Darwin pulled out.  Juice winced and would have sagged against the wall had Darwin not reached around and enveloped Juice’s erection in a meaty hand.  He began jerking efficiently.

“That’s not…I’m good.”

He ignored him, pressing his weight into Juice’s and continuing to give the kind of hand job that spoke of long practice.  Juice pressed his face against the wall and let it happen.  It didn’t take long for him to come.

And as he gasped and shuddered though his orgasm, a tear slipped free, dribbled down the wall and tracked across the butterfly.

 

**_Disloyalty_ **

 

Juice sat in the truck, the pain gnawing at his leg a distant concern over the roaring in his head.  The adrenaline he’d been running on since stealing the brick of coke was fading now it was over, leaving him shaky and sick as his mind tried to process what he done instinctually to survive.

He had killed Miles…

He put a bullet through his head at point blank range, splattering him with Miles’ blood and fragments of skin and bone and brain.  He could smell it clinging to him, fresh and metallic, kept warm by the heat of his own skin. 

He caught sight of his reflection in the driver’s mirror.  At some point he must have used two hands to wipe Miles’ blood from his eyes leaving two oval patches on his face. 

It looked like a god-damn butterfly.

 

**_…And the One Time it was…_ **

**_Love_ **

 

Beyond the smudged glass of his bedroom window, on the leaves of the creeping vine, the chrysalis had begun to crack.  It was the first thing that Juan saw when the banging against the front door awoke him from his fevered sleep.  The boy watched it from his bed, aching and exhausted by merely being awake, as the fierce sound of his grandfather’s voice seemed to rattle though the tiny apartment.  The words were muffled as much by the walls as by the thick pillow that the boy pressed over his ears but some still slipped through.

“…can’t afford to….medical…”  The man’s tirade stood in stark contrast to the slowly immerging insect just beyond the glass.  “…come begging for money….”  There was something about the gentle beauty uncurling from its brown and paper like nest that soothed him away from the ugliness he could hear.  He must have fallen asleep again because when a thud jolted through him he saw that the butterfly was clear of its pupa and clinging, limply winged, to its outside. 

The sound of his mother yelling from the next room had given way to sobbing.  His mother was crying again.  Visits from his grandfather always made her cry.

Juan twisted in the sweaty sheets of his bed, but managed only to rise up a little before his strength gave out and he flopped back against the pillow exhausted.

“…stupid whore. You’re pathetic!  Look at you!” 

The only reply his mother gave was useless sobbing; completely broken and no longer caring to fight back.

“You disgust me! Get up!  Look at you, on your knees, is that where you belong?”

His mother gave a sharp and pained cry, followed by the sounds of stumbling.  His grandfather laughed nastily, without any humour, drawing it out as long as possible.

“Stay there then, on your knees.  Crawl back to the nigger who put his bastard in your belly and suck his dick like the whore you are.  That’s the only way you’ll _ever_ get any money.”

This last was ended by the _bang_ of the front door slamming shut.

Time passed.  The butterfly’s wings slowly un-creased, becoming solid iridescent blue. 

Maritza’s face appeared around his bedroom door, her eyes red and puffy, skin blotchy and her hair a mess of mussed curls.  He was old enough now to notice how his mother looked no older than his friend’s sisters.  He knew, because people had told him so, that she was still in her teens and that this was very bad although he didn’t know why.

She slipped into the bed beside him and cuddled him to her.  It was a rare treat.  She kissed his brow and muttered softly about his fever.  She smelled of pressed powder and salty tears.

He laid his head against her chest and listened to the steady rhythm of her heart as she gently stroked his head.  He heard her give a jerky hiccup and his stomach knotted in fear.  It always scared him when she cried.  And he could never help.

Movement caught his eye.  The butterfly had opened and closed its wings.  And he knew what he could do.

“Mama?”

“Yeah?”  Her voice trembled on the verge of fresh tears.

“Look at the butterfly.”  He pointed at the delicate creature.  “It hatched.”

He felt something wet splash onto his forehead.  It frightened him and he pressed closer to her.

“It doesn’t fly.” 

“It will soon.  Its wings are too weak right now.”  She chuckled bitterly.  “I know how that feels.”

“But it’ll be strong soon?”  He looked up at her, worriedly.  “Won’t it?”

“Yeah.”  She gave him a small smile.  “It won’t be long before it’ll be strong enough to fly wherever it wants to.”

They continued to watch the butterfly.  Its wings dried smooth and delicate.  Juan dozed in the comfort of his mother’s arms until she shook him awake.

“Juan, look!”  Her face smiled down at him, pretty and young again, no sign of the tears left.

He turned to see the butterfly crawling up the vine, opening and closing its wings in readiness for flight.  A few seconds later, the beautiful creature fluttered away.

“He’s strong now, mama.”  He grinned.  “And me too.  I feel strong too.”

She kissed his brow and told him, with a gasp of relief, that his fever was gone at last.

“And you.”  He told her.  “You’re strong.”

She looked away and drew breath, then looked back.  “Yeah.”  She said and smiled.  “ _We_ are.”

He cuddled closer.  

“I love you, my big strong boy,” she whispered to him, “you know that, right?”


End file.
